


Covenant

by theboymichaelshanks_archivist



Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Other, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-04
Updated: 2002-05-04
Packaged: 2019-03-16 12:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13636434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboymichaelshanks_archivist/pseuds/theboymichaelshanks_archivist
Summary: Time runs out for Daniel, Methos makes a choice, and the other two eventually catch up.





	Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Boy / Michael Shanks](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Boy_Fanfiction_Archive), wand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Boy / Michael Shanks collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theboymichaelshanks/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This is an AU both for SG1 and H/L. Thanks to Tritorella for the beta and Thalia for her encouragement and help!

  
Author's notes: This is an AU both for SG1 and H/L. Thanks to Tritorella for the beta and Thalia for her encouragement and help!  


* * *

Covenant

### Covenant

#### by Littlevera

Date Archived: 05/04/02  
Website: http://http://www.e-fic.com/~freedomfiction/littlevera/index.html  
Status: Complete  
Category: Slash, Alternate Universe, Crossover  
Characters/Pairings: Col. Jack O'Neill, Teal'c, Dr. Daniel Jackson, Maj. Samantha Carter, Gen. George Hammond     Other Pairing   D/M   Highlander   Methos, Duncan,Joe,Connor  
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: SG1: S1-S5,HL:S1-S4  
Permission to archive: Ares 52 and anyone else who asks  
Series:   
Notes: This is an AU both for SG1 and H/L. Thanks to Tritorella for the beta and Thalia for her encouragement and help!  
Warnings: AU. Slash.  
Disclaimer: Nope, the characters from SG1 and H/L are not mine.  
Summary: Time runs out for Daniel, Methos makes a choice, and the other two eventually catch up.

* * *

// Death has found us, and we can cheat it no longer. Our enemy came from the sky with soldiers of metal that swarmed over the desert. // 

Daniel knew the words by heart, every symbol, and every route he had taken to translate it. He knew he was right. Still, he needed to show it to someone, just to make sure he wasn't crazy. 

Who better than his teacher? Unhindered by the need to research, because the knowledge was already there. Marcus' voice, soft and hesitant, as he attempted to translate the words, continued. 

//The Game has ended for now while we fight this enemy. We cannot win.  
Quickenings are being lost on the battlefield along with the lives of our brothers in this battle. Those who have hated us. Who live but a single life.// 

He shuffled through the copies of the inscription Daniel had secreted out of the base. A dustball of a planet, with nothing of interest except ruins, decorating the sand like discarded toys of a game long since ended. Except it hadn't. The rules had simply changed. 

//The Old Man appeared from the caves when they came. Watching the battles, until now. He says the Circle can take us, all of us, from here. To where we began. I do not know if anyone believes him, but we have no choice. // 

He waited, paced the office as Marcus translated the photos. Fuelled by the need to do something, anything, he toyed with Marcus' nameplate for the umpteenth time - Constantine. Marcus had gone back to his beginning, and so had he. It was ironic really - answers he had spent years looking for, convinced that they lay `out there', and, he had been looking in the wrong place. The answers were on Earth - just like an Old Man he knew, had warned him. 

The smug bastard. 

//We will avenge those lost in this battle. There can be only One.  
He will bring death to Ra.// 

Marcus shuffled through the photographs again, neatened them and then placed them carefully on his desk. 

"So?" Marcus said quietly. 

So? That's all? 

Daniel fought hard to restrain himself. 

"What do you mean `so'? It can end. Ra is dead, " Daniel retorted. 

"Well, then, congratulations,' Marcus returned calmly. "Do you really expect any Immortal to believe this?" 

Marcus slid the glossies over his desk to Daniel. 

"The One is a weapon against an alien God. And since Ra is dead, lets all live happily ever after? You'd lose your head." 

Daniel shook his head, refusing to listen. 

"Marcus, it can end," Daniel said softly, hating that he was begging to be believed. 

"Daniel...the Game will end. But not with words," his teacher replied. "This inscription says these Immortals were already a part of the Game. Its purpose was lost for a while, but then who would believe that the One was destined to kill Ra? That didn't survive...but what did? " Marcus asked, his question gentle, his tone that of a teacher chastising a favorite pupil. 

"That there can be only One," Daniel answered. His eyes drifted shut with the recitation of the rule. He really did believe it could end. He gathered the glossies, neatening them compulsively on Marcus' desk. Caught in the moment of discovery his mind had already raced ahead planning...it was foolish. Proclaiming the Game no longer necessary was right up there with convincing Immortals to simply lay down their swords for the good of all Immortals everywhere. It didn't escape Daniel that he had laughed in _that_ Methos' face when the man had delivered his sermon. And now he was doing the same. 

He couldn't win, not when he was fighting _time_. 

"You're running out of time there," his teacher said destroying the last of Daniel's patience with a well educated guess. 

"Marcus..." Daniel warned. He didn't need this, not now and especially not when he knew this conversation by heart. Knew that Marcus' concerns were his, though he refused to admit it. 

"You are risking too much to stay there any longer. You have the answers you were seeking... and they aren't through a stone circle in Cheyenne Mountain. No matter how much you want them to be," Marcus said pointedly. It gave new meaning to stuck between a rock and a hard place - Jack wanted Sam, not him. He kept his silence, telling himself that he could hardly tell an officer in the USAF that he was Immortal - for a top secret project, it had become painfully obvious that the Stargate was anything but, thanks to the alphabet soup of agencies that routinely appeared these days. If nothing else it gave Daniel new respect for his Watcher. Six years now, and he was still safe. 

And Marcus was still right. 

In the end it didn't matter who was right. 

The decision was taken from him because he died. 

In the flames of a fire started by a Quickening taken in his home. 

There were no sarcophagi or other convenient excuses to explain his miraculous return to life. 

So Daniel Jackson died in the flames of a fire. Again. 

The upside, such as it was - he won. Just barely. 

It confirmed something else for him - a Gathering was here. 

Like New York, seventeen years ago, and Egypt before that. He should have known better than to ignore the signs - like the shift of an Immortal presence against his own, consuming all reason, urging him to fight because in the end there was only the challenge. 

Only the One. 

But the truth was he didn't want to believe, when Marcus felt nothing, or he could hide out at the mountain until the threat of forcibly being ejected from his office made him leave. Neither excuse would have lasted much longer anyway. 

* * *

His body arched, pulled on ancient puppet strings that brought Daniel back to life. First breath was torn from him, lungs on fire as they resumed their task. 

God, it hurt every time. 

Light,breathe,soft,breathe,warm,breathe... 

Not a morgue, not a body bag, not a grave and his next breath was one of relief. 

Not a grave...which meant... 

"Daniel..." 

At his name Daniel opened his eyes. He was in a room, a bed, now dusted with ash and skin. 

"Marcus?" he stammered trying desperately to focus on the figure before him. When his vision steadied, he almost wished he hadn't. A rumpled Saville Row suit, disheveled hair and stubble...and Marcus' presence colored by the call of a Challenge. 

So,Marcus felt it too. A Gathering _was_ here. 

Daniel was afloat on a cloud of voices, some raised in greeting or hushed in good-byes. Outside another plane rose into the air providing the background music to each greeting. He tensed when a presence touched his own. Not like the others they had already passed in the airport, this was Marcus, power, trying to breach the bonds of common sense, held at bay simply because Marcus wished it so. He'd have to get Marcus to teach him that trick some day. Daniel turned from the window and tracked Marcus as he weaved his way through the lounge to him. 

"Where are you going?" he asked as he accepted the ticket Marcus held. He flicked it open. 

Paris. 

"Home...to Rome," Marcus replied, the mask of control he wore slipping just a little. 

"It's been too long since I've been back." 

Another presence surged against them both, and the mask was back as they searched the myriad of faces around them. Instead, the presence disappeared. They waited together, watching the planes until the flight announcement in French and then English sounded. This moment had been played out too many times before, and would be played out again. A half smile, a quick clasp of forearm against forearm and Daniel was gone losing himself in the crowd, relieved when he couldn't feel Marcus anymore. 

The flight was smooth but his dreams were chaotic. He let them come, relishing the pain, the hurt - everything. Like wanting Jack and watching him fall for Sam. Watching them begin as he and Jack had ended. By the time he arrived in Paris he could almost believe this was for the best. 

* * *

Consciousness slammed into Methos violently, like a fall into nothingness. He snapped awake, fighting the tangle of the covers that pinned him down. 

Home. 

He forced himself to lie still, pushing the dream images back into his subconscious, where they belonged. Along with the rest of Jacob Kell's madness. 

Hell, Methos decided, this century anyway, were dreams of blood, reveling in each drop being spilled while people screamed. Hell was that the dreams spoke to him. They always did. 

Methos rose, cast the covers away in frustration. He knew it was too early, but sleep would be elusive now, something just beyond the darkness of his closed lids, past the memories he had no wish to wade into. 

Later, when the hour was halfway decent enough to actually get out of bed, Methos sat in silence in his study waiting for his mailbox to appear on his computer. The thing was bloody slow, and updating it was just another thing to add to the list of things that had to be done around the house. 

He sipped his coffee in-between deleting emails for free porn and DVD's. Methos adored the technological age but the utter excess it released on the human race was by far the most irritating of its consequences. He stopped suddenly as the subject line of the next message sank in. Sent just after Kell, he hovered between deleting and opening it. 

Click. 

A,  
We're going to the island. He says thank you. J 

Methos blew softly across the surface of his coffee, wisps of steam rising as he read the message again. At least it was something, even if it was from Joe. In the end all that mattered was that Mac and Connor were safe, under Joe's watchful gaze. 

J, 

Take care of them both. Let me know if anything comes up. 

A 

Methos hit `Send' quickly before he even let himself consider giving in to the adolescent urge of retyping the message. Joe would understand, had known why he left Paris after Mac's little affirmation party after the run in with O'Rourke and why he had taken Kell's head. MacLeod, both of them, mattered, even if the Watcher didn't know all his reasons for taking Connor's place. 

//I don't know who you are...// 

After all this time Methos still remembered the Highlander's tone, tinged with the understanding that he could not understand Methos. Methos, in turn had known this was coming and had wondered how long it would have taken the Highlander to admit that this once he really was out of his depth. Like a child asking its parent `why' and giving up when the answer was something it simply didn't understand. At the very least Mac had lasted longer than Methos had expected, and had managed to survive Kronos and even Byron. 

Even if their relationship had not. 

Methos sipped his coffee again, returning those regrets to where they belonged. Ten minutes later amid the free offer of a credit card and another subject line that declared "Apierson, you are a winner" Methos found a short message. From one of his contacts in the Watchers, telling him that one of the Immortals he had flagged had resurfaced. 

In Paris. 

* * *

// Death. 

Blood. 

A thousand years. 

Brothers. 

And then just Death. 

Methos flung each word into this void of confessions, defiant, daring judgment. 

The only judgment that mattered was the dulling of a blue-eyed gaze opposite him as true to Immortal and human nature, he was judged. Methos would receive nothing from the men sitting on either side of him; nothing they didn't already thing themselves worthy off. A scholar and a priest whose hands, under the guise of war, king and country, were as bloodied as his.// 

His bags still lay strewn around his room, sheer laziness coupled with apathy. It didn't take him long to pack. 

//Redemption. 

Methos wondered if he'd ever stop looking for it. 

Through the afternoon, while Darius laid out the plans for this covenant of his, Methos' gaze never strayed far from Daniel's. He held on to the sadness there, let it fuel the desolation in him. 

When night fell Methos fled, seeking out the safety of his own room. He threw open the windows, not caring for the chill that invaded the room, just needing to breathe. He should never have come, never have listened to Darius' ambitions, and never have turned around when the door had opened that first night.// 

It occurred to him that he really didn't need to go. The Watchers would be there, and there were still several ways Methos could keep tabs on him. Then Methos looked around his house, already locked, sitting in an oppressive silence most of his homes were used to. And it occurred to him that he really didn't need to stay either. 

//Click. 

The sound of his door chilled him even further, but he didn't turn around. 

Couldn't. 

"Please..." came the ragged whisper and Methos wanted to ignore it, ignore everything and return to his vineyard and live out his life. 

"Please..." 

He felt the hand reaching for him and moved slamming the windows shut. He felt Daniel jump behind him at the abrupt movement. But still he didn't move. 

A hand brushed the small of his back hesitantly and Methos willed himself to remain still, not to lean into the touch. The hand continued on its path along his spine to the nape of his neck, carding through the hair and then a gentle pressure forcing him to turn. 

"Forgive me..." 

Methos heard the words before he could focus on the man before him. 

"Please..." 

More words spilled forth and Methos focused on that perfect mouth, remembering its taste and feel and now wanting nothing more than for it to shut up. He didn't want stuttered apologies not if that came with the pity and horror he saw in Daniel's eyes. // 

The taxi threaded its way through the London traffic slowly. Pity, Methos had decided a long time ago, was worse than the horror. 

//Daniel leaned forward slightly, touching their foreheads together. 

"I see who you are..." 

Methos flinched at the words, his, spoken as he had tried to prepare Daniel from the moment they had begun. A maze of oblique warnings that had made no sense until now. Stupid child. 

"You see who I am?" Methos hissed. He couldn't do this couldn't live through this again. He gripped Daniel's head hard pulling them apart. 

Fear...good. 

"Yes..." Daniel hissed, lines of pain along his eyes. But he didn't pull away. 

"Let me show you..." 

Methos gave Daniel his forgiveness in pain, wanting to bend Daniel to his will. Except Daniel let him do as wanted, and met force with practiced compliance. Methos didn't mind the silence, or his lover's passiveness. Bruises would heal, pain would pass, and in the morning this would end. 

Except morning came and Daniel was still in his bed, an arm tucked around his waist, the warmth of his body a burn against Methos' own. Disentangling himself, Methos rose. 

"Where are you going?" 

Daniel propped himself up on one hand and regarded Methos, with genuine curiosity. Methos didn't answer, just pulled his shirt on. 

"Come back to bed..." 

Daniel pulled back the covers and reached out for him. There was certainty in his eyes, but harder. Hard won, Methos thought. 

"Methos..." 

Daniel sat up, managing to grab onto Methos' hand. Methos had no idea what Daniel was out to prove with this and the protestations were already on his lips...but he found himself wanting the warmth of another body, if only for a short while longer. So he relented allowing Daniel to entwine their fingers. A warm body and a warm bed. He would lose this eventually, but it would do to remind himself exactly why the past should remain there. 

"Come back to bed..." 

A gentle tug and obediently Methos raised his hands and the shirt was flung aside before he found himself being welcomed back to bed. 

Not the Daniel of the night before, but still with him. 

Later, tired and sated, he lay in Daniel's arms telling him stories of a lifetime ago. 

Of the desert and blood, before the Horsemen, and after. 

And of wisps of memory of false gods, and rebellion. 

And stargates.// 

Stargates... 

Methos sighed as he sank down into an empty seat. How many times had he wished he'd never opened his mouth? 

* * *

Routine. 

Daniel clung to it, to each measure of sameness in his day that he could get. It was an indulgence, a trick to focus on the here and now. He `inherited' his apartment building again. Getting his old apartment habitable took him a week - days interspersed with cleaning and shopping and a few hours of sleep before he rose to do it again. He introduced himself to the other tenants, simply because it saved him the trouble of dealing with the intense curiosity that he had to endure every time he stepped outside. The short walk to his post box was not supposed to be spent clutching his mail to his chest to avoid the sharp eyes of whoever just happened to picking theirs up. 

When he couldn't clean anymore, couldn't hide really, Daniel ventured out. He had his morning coffee at the Jardin des P'tes after a walk through it's namesake, the Jardin des Plantes. It always seemed to be busy enough that he was lost in the crowd there, and coffee took a while. A short time, but still it passed. Daniel chose a corner table each time, flicking through a newspaper every morning until someone saw him and he had to order. 

He visited the Louvre again, lingering at the Egyptian exhibit, enjoying it for what he saw and not what he knew. The Muses Rodin, d'Orsay battling the throng of tourists until the masterpieces began to merge into one another and colours were just colours. He wandered the city after that, and then the markets - the Marche d'Aligre and Bastille losing himself in the ebb and flow of the life around him. 

That's how he found Sabrina. Not at the markets, and later when he told her about his meanderings there her look of affront was enough to make him swear off visiting them, he simply passed her picerie and heard a lilting laugh. 

"Imbcile!..." 

Daniel stumbled as a woman pushed past him, her arms laden with bags. He hurried to one side, out of the path of the pedestrian traffic, and then he heard the laugh again. 

//Dan-yel!!!  
Shau'ri's laugh bubbled forth when he discovered her greatest weakness - the ticklish spot just underneath her left breast...she burrowed deeper next to him, covering herself with his body, encouraging him to pay as much dedicated attention to the rest of her...// 

"Bonjour..." 

The memory faded, pushed away by the cheerful greeting and a gentle smile. A woman, with greying hair, haphazardly piled away from her face peered out from behind glass doors. She disappeared for a moment after her greeting and a well-dressed man took her place. Daniel saw the man lean forward and the woman met him halfway graciously accepting a peck on his cheek. With a quick nod to Daniel, he disappeared into the night. 

"Come..." Sabrina gestured holding the door open for him. The gentle entreaty was hard to resist, and he didn't want to. Inside the shop was nothing more than four aisles filled with a different scents -sweet, spicy, fresh, mint, earthy - embodying the woman now attached like a limpet to his arm. A man, as silent as Sabrina was talkative watched him sourly, yet when his gaze shifted to Sabrina, his face lit up as if he were watching his entire world. Shrugging off the melancholy that threatened him, yet again, Daniel concentrated on Sabrina, on her inconsequential chatter, as effective as a force of nature that swept him up and shut everything beyond the store out...he held onto that momentum, let it carry him through the next day and the one after. He sent in an application for a teaching position, and then, the interview at the Sorbonne. When that momentum faded, and he was sitting before the interview board answering questions, building a life with words for the board's benefit, he found himself already in one. Then he saw Methos. 

* * *

Daniel felt the presence first - old, washing over him in an inexorable wave heralding the presence of age and strength, until as suddenly as it had appeared it banked. Daniel glanced outside the bakery window and searched the street. He saw him, a lean, almost gangly man across the street in blue jeans, a grey sweater and a bag slung over his shoulder looking for all the world like a professional student. Or rather, perpetual student. Of everything. 

Methos. 

He should have figured that Marcus would have learnt that Quickening trick from Methos. Daniel exited the bakery, a loaf of crusty bread under one arm and the spoils of another visit to Sabrina's in his other hand. He crossed the street, drinking in the sight of Methos in this latest incarnation. The illusion of youth was perfect - the longer hair softening the lines of his face, the oversize sweater hiding the strength inherent in his body - Methos would look right at home in one of the classes at the university. Only when they were standing in front of each other, did gold flecked eyes, carefully shielded, flick over him quickly. Examination complete, Methos reached for the loaf of bread pulling it from his grasp. Daniel gestured with his now free hand that they should start walking and Methos accepted the invitation and fell into step next to him. They walked in silence, heads bowed against the cold wind until they reached his apartment. He ushered Methos in before he dumped the bags in the kitchen. He needed the few seconds just to think where to begin. 

At the beginning seemed to do. 

Daniel returned to the lounge and found himself the subject of scrutiny again. Coupled with sadness and understanding. So, he knew, Daniel thought. But he said the words anyway. 

"I found the Stargate." 

A weary sigh bled into the silence between them, before Methos spoke. 

"I need a drink." 

* * *

"...and Marcus is in Rome," Daniel said, his last sip of his scotch punctuating the condensed version of the past years of his life. 

"So...I guess congratulations are in order," Methos drawled sifting through the copies of the inscription that Marcus had insisted on keeping. "After all, you're the One." 

"Err...no," Daniel corrected, rolling his eyes. That was something he never wanted. On this world or any other. 

"By circumstance, then," Methos shrugged. Daniel snorted. "I don't suppose you remember living in a cave at any point during the past five thousand years?" Daniel asked, only just half heartedly. This time it was Methos that rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

"Sorry, wrong Old One," he said tossing the photos between them. 

It figured. The end would come with a sword. Only then did Daniel realise he'd been holding on to an infinitesimal drop of hope. 

"Why don't you say it?" Daniel blurted out. He wanted to rail, fight, argue, and what better way to start with an `I told you so'? God knows, he had it coming. But Methos had said nothing of the sort, and they settled into an amicable conversation, like old friends catching up. 

"Maybe I will," Methos allowed, giving nothing away. "It depends...." 

"On?" Daniel questioned, not at all sure he was going to like the answer. 

"On how soon I can get another drink...." 

Daniel looked at him quizzically. He expected recriminations, another fight like the last time they had spoken before he left for Egypt. It would have made this easier. 

"Coming right up...," Daniel said as he reached for the bottle sitting on the centre table. He almost missed Methos' last sentence. 

"I thought you were dead." 

"Darius knew where I was," he returned. He couldn't hide the hint of reproach in his tone, though he doubted it would matter to Methos. The liquid fell gracefully into Methos' glass and Daniel concentrated on it, instead of the man he knew was concentrating on him. 

"Darius died," replied Methos. 

"I know...I found Marcus after...I reported to him." 

Methos grimaced at his spate of ready answers. 

"Yeah...well I've been busy," he retorted. "I joined the Watchers." 

It took a few seconds for that one to sink in. 

"Excuse me?" Daniel was surprised to learn that he sounded vaguely coherent. And Methos looked entirely too pleased with himself. 

"How do you think I found you in Paris?" he asked, his lips curled in amusement. 

His Watcher. Methos grinned. 

"Yes, your Watcher. But I'm not with them anymore. Adam Pierson went and committed the most grievous of sins - he became Immortal." 

"Do you know who my Watcher was? In Colorado?" Daniel asked, simply curious. 

"I have no idea,"Methos admitted. "Your Chronicle was sealed about six years ago..." 

"Interesting timing," Daniel murmured. 

"Then when you showed up here, you were assigned a Watcher, and your Chronicle was unsealed. Apparently you make life very easy for Louise. She loses you at the cafe, so she just waits at the bakery until you show up...Black coat...long hair..." Methos said. 

Daniel shook his head, at a loss at the vague description. 

"She was two people behind you at the bakery?" Methos prodded. 

A vague image of a woman, mousy, with wind blown brown hair rose from the depths of his memory. A long black coat with... 

"...a flute case? Tucked under her arm?" Daniel said absently. 

"That's her," confirmed Methos. A small measure of relief flooded Daniel at that. When it came to the Watchers every little bit of knowledge counted. 

"Is there anything else you'd like to mention?" he asked not bothering to hide his somewhat snide tone. Methos was unperturbed. 

"I found MacLeod." 

"Which one?" Daniel shot back. 

"Both actually." 

Daniel waited for the punch line, but it didn't come. And Methos was the only one that was laughing. He was still waiting for the punch line as Methos gave him the condensed version of the past few years of his life. 

* * *

By the time Methos finished, daylight and night had merged, a perfect moment in between the two that saw the city beyond settle down for the night. 

"I thought you'd already lost your conscience." 

"This has nothing to do with conscience," Methos protested. "Nakano's choice was Connor, Darius' MacLeod. It could be either one. I just thought Connor might like the chance to actually see the end of the Game. He'll get over this little death wish," Methos said. 

Daniel cocked his head to one side, not quite believing what he was hearing. 

"What?" Methos asked. "Death is the easy way out, Daniel. He'll have to live to honor her and to forgive himself. And not in some dungeon with drugs keeping him alive either. I've just given him the chance to figure that out. He will - he's a MacLeod - it'll just take a while." A knowing smile softened the words. 

Daniel didn't comment. There'd been enough days that he'd wanted exactly that. He supposed Methos had too. 

"Anyway, he's with MacLeod. He's safe there. And if he still wants to lose his head, then so be it," Methos shrugged. Daniel watched the long fingers picking at the cushion across his lap. 

"So you're going to see this through, then? Like Darius wanted?" he asked. The fingers stopped their convulsive movement and eyes, carefully wiped clean of anything, regarded him thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps...." The answer was so Methos that Daniel laughed out loud. Methos just grinned wolfishly, before he rose. 

"I have to go," he said. He stretched out, his body taut. 

Daniel didn't know why he did it, though it seemed natural enough at the time - he reached out and grabbed Methos' hand in a light clasp. He didn't flinch from he surprise in his friend, or the answer he knew he should expect. But he held on. 

When Methos answered, he knew he should have remembered to whom he was talking to. 

* * *

Darkness. 

Methos sighed. He should have expected this. He rarely, if ever, slept well in new surroundings, and the nightmares were there, waiting for him. The fact that he could not discern if it was Mac's or Daniel's voice entwined with his own in his nightmares made no difference. 

He rose, padding out of the guestroom onto the landing. Below, on the sofa, Daniel shifted in his sleep, murmuring something incoherently. Methos had emerged from the bathroom only to find his friend had nodded off. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to stay. 

He made his way downstairs carefully - one of them should at least get some sleep. Curiosity sent him on a circuit of the apartment which showed that it was only just beginning to look lived in. 

"Shau'ri..." 

His wife. A year on a planet without any challenges looming, with a woman that loved him. That freedom was more than most Immortals had, even him - though his time with Alexa had been close to it. A thick curtain of eyelashes fluttered briefly before the name was uttered again, with reverence even in the depths of sleep. Daniel twisted in sleep, drawing his knees up to his chest as much as the sofa allowed. 

Death. 

Methos sank into the nearest armchair. As it had millennia ago the Stargate had brought only death to Daniel's life. 

And nightmares, Methos thought as another shiver wracked his body. 

His own of that time were filled with blood, cries in the desert night, false gods whose eyes glowed as if they could see right through him, to his heart just before they ripped it out. 

On nights when the universe sought to remind him that he was after all, just a guy, or a difficult Quickening that lead to too much introspection, those nightmares returned and he knew that this Immortal world of his was insignificant when entire races fell to the might of Gods in their pursuit for power. It made him want to find the quietest corner of the Earth and just live his life. 

Daniel stirred slightly in his sleep. Methos listened to him breathe, caught in the nightmares of then and now, until the sounds eventually lulled him to sleep. 

* * *

Light...at the end of a tunnel... light...cast into a night sky by a fire that consumed a building voraciously...the light above that flickered...and Jack held his breath. 

It flared bright briefly and then died. 

"O'Neill?" 

Teal'c loomed over him, blocking the fluorescent light that had driven Jack crazy these past weeks. He nodded before he grabbed the Jaffa's hand and Jack found himself on his feet in a single movement. The room settled and he glanced around as if seeing it for the first time. 

He wondered if he could get maintenance to slap a new coat of paint on as well. 

Jack sought Carter out for a silent check of his own before they were shuttled off to Fraiser. She expected it and graced his newest quirk with a quick nod. Teal'c was next, a slow, grave inclination of his head that granted him this indulgence when they both knew that nothing short of a staff blast would stop him. 

All okay. 

The General waited at the end of the ramp, his face ruddy as if he had just been the one that had tumbled through the Gate with a herd of angry Jaffa on his six. 

"Colonel?" Hammond questioned. 

Idly Jack wondered if he had anything at home that was remotely edible. 

"Kicked ass...Sir," he answered. Hammond positively beamed at that. 

There was a vague memory of pasta within the depths of his kitchen...somewhere. 

"Indeed, General Hammond, the medical strike was a success," Teal'c said. 

The word `surgical' was on the tip of Jack's tongue - an automatic reaction to this old joke. Except Jack stopped. He didn't stay a word and Carter moved in smoothly quickly giving the General the highlights. 

One less snakehead. Whoop-di-doo. 

"Good work, SG-1," Hammond said. Jack winced at that. 

"Debriefing, in one hour. Dr Fraiser's waiting." 

This was getting old. Saving the world, or saving himself, it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore, because the person that made it worthwhile wasn't with him. 

"Colonel?" 

What do you do with when the only thing you're left with is the knowledge of what could have been? 

"O'Neill?" 

A punishing grip closed around his arm, pulling him back from those regrets. 

"Yeah..." Jack dredged up a reassuring smile, ignoring the strange look his C.O gave him. 

Pasta...right. He had some pasta, bought just after he returned to Earth from the training mission and ...Daniel. He'd grabbed it automatically during a trip to the supermarket because it was the only thing he made that Daniel ate, and Daniel always came over after a mission, though he hadn't in a while. And right about there Jack had stopped, discarded his trolley, paid for the pasta and fled. 

"Colonel?" 

Hammond this time, and this time there was no doubt that there was worry written over his face. Which meant standdown time, or better still a visit to Mackenzie. 

Like Hell. 

"Yes, Sir...." 

Jack led his team out of the Gate room. 

Colonel Jack O'Neill. 

That was getting old too. 

* * *

Endless didn't even begin to cover what should have been a quick visit to an picerie Daniel had found. Time had done nothing but increase his stubbornness to the point where Daniel was immovable, and condescending in his certainty. It grated on Methos' nerves. Even though this entire expedition of theirs was so blessedly mundane. 

"Here...look!" Daniel insisted waving the mozzarella wildly in front of Methos. Methos shied away, but to no avail. The cheese followed intent on offending his cooking sensibilities. He wondered if there were peppers somewhere in here - there had to be if only to save him Daniel's version of pasta. He hoped. 

"You're going to need provolone," Methos tried again. 

Peppers, at two o'clock. Yes! 

"Please! The only thing you are capable of making is that eel concoction and...." 

A distinct cough behind them cut Daniel off mid-tirade. 

"Who is cooking tonight?" inquired Sabrina, a dangerously fake smile plastered on her face. Suddenly Methos was very aware that the shop was busy, and they had been loud. 

"He is," Methos replied silkily, leaving no doubt as to what he thought of Daniel's culinary skills. 

"Then he gets the cheese," she said. Methos opened his mouth to argue and then promptly closed it again. 

Considering that Sabrina had decided Daniel was in need of someone to take care of him, and that she had, for weeks, been the only person around who had, discretion seemed to be the better part of valour. 

Even if he was right. 

"Of course,"Methos capitulated, ignoring Daniel's sickeningly sweet smile. 

"Good, then you are done." 

It wasn't a question. Sabrina herded them away from the freezer muttering apologies to the other customers. Daniel had the grace to look sheepish at unknowingly becoming the floor show, while Methos ignored them, sulking at the peppers got further and further away from him. 

Methos doubted that he had ever paid so fast before they were gently but firmly shown the door. Daniel, his arms already laden with their dinner was out first, while Sabrina held Methos back. 

"Here..." she whispered as she thrust another bag into his arms. "So he will not be too angry with you." 

Angry with him?! Methos wondered before a blast of cold air hit him in the face and he was outside. 

"What was that all about?" Daniel asked. Sabrina, her work done had disappeared back into the shop leaving Methos on his own. 

He peered into the bag, almost afraid of its contents. Inside he found green peppers, a small block of provolone, and a bag of Colombian Dark Roast nestled amongst the food. 

Daniel's coffee. 

Sabrina suddenly began to make a lot more sense. 

"It's for you," Methos said showing off the bag of Colombian Dark Roast. If Sabrina thought he would need to make nice, then he wasn't going to argue. It didn't hurt that Daniel smiled - simple pleasure - at the unexpected gift. The wind swept his hair into his eyes, and with a quick jerk of his head Daniel tried unsuccessfully to brush it away. Methos was reaching forward, his fingers brushing the strands away from startled eyes, before he realised it. 

"Thanks," Daniel murmured. He fell into step next to Daniel as they made their way back to the apartment. Methos sneaked a glance at his friend - face flushed from the chill in the air or the coffee beans; long hair fluttering over his eyes again in the fierce wind. Daniel leaned in against him as they turned the corner into his street and Methos found the small of his back, guiding him. He didn't move away. 

It was a curious feeling - there were no grand differences of ideals, no Immortal headhunters appearing every other week and Methos didn't have to fight for every sane moment between them. 

It would do. It would definitely do. 

* * *

"Methos?" Daniel called out tentatively from the kitchen. 

Methos hmm-ed as read through another email from Joe. Nothing much had changed. Connor was `getting better' - an all purpose platitude that conveyed everything and nothing at all. He decided to take the words at face value. It was infinitely safer. Mac, according to Joe, was entirely focussed on Connor. Hardly surprising, Methos thought. The Highlander was even contemplating taking his cousin to Scotland. Methos replied as he usually did and slipped in a sentence that he was in Paris again. 

"MacLeod?" 

Methos hit send. 

The name was a soft whisper, almost apologetic for intruding on him, though this was Daniel's study. He stood in the doorway, a dishcloth slung over one shoulder. Methos shifted uncomfortably under the shrewd gaze. 

"They're both getting better," he said echoing Joe's words. "Duncan wants to take Connor back to Scotland. To the old neighborhood and all. Couldn't hurt." 

Daniel nodded sagely, approving of the idea. Before the moment reached the stage of excessive melancholy, Methos spoke. 

"Dinner?" 

* * *

"So what is it with you and MacLeod?" 

Bright boy, Methos thought focusing intently on his glass. 

They were on the couch, curled up like long-limbed cats in their respective corners of the couch, a bottle of wine between them. 

"Where did that come from?" Methos asked. He sipped at his wine. 

"Nowhere in particular," came the off hand reply. Too off hand, Methos thought as his friend resolutely studied the flames of the fire. 

"I don't know," Methos admitted. "Barely friends, sometimes I think enemies might be easier but we've both settled on somewhere in the middle." 

Which left them striving to put distance between them. Daniel's lips curled, a measure of muscle that moved, in an almost knowing smile that hinted at things he knew were being left unsaid. A retreat was beginning to look like an attractive idea. 

"I have to go," he announced. "I'm in dire need of sleep in my own humble bed." 

"Why?" asked Daniel. "There's nothing wrong with mine, is there?" 

Blue eyes radiated innocence, even as each word dripped with innuendo. The child had definitely learned something since he had seen him last. 

"I am meeting my manager tomorrow," Methos said, concentrating on getting his coat on. "He's going on holiday to Hong Kong for a while, so I am taking over. It's a chance to give the bookshop a once over before the party tomorrow night. There might actually be someone there interested in buying the place." 

Selling the shop...it was the first time he had spoken of it, and the reality was less painful than he expected. Another era closed, more friends laid to rest. It was time, he figured. 

"Would you like to come?" 

A muttered "why not" was his answer. Determined and sad all at once. Methos was too intimately acquainted with that part of Immortal existence that sent him living each day for the sake of it until something snapped him out of it. These last few years had been peppered with it too much for his liking. 

"Yeah, why not?" Daniel murmured again, determination stronger than before. He met Methos' eyes the blue startling in its intensity. 

Moments where existence became living. 

* * *

Fuck...please not now! 

Cold, colder than the night, the presence slid across Daniel's awareness. He shivered searching the darkness of the street for the figure. Up ahead, a beacon in the night was the hotel where a continuous thread of cars pulled up to the entrance. 

So much for short cuts, Daniel thought. He reached the end of the block and became aware of another presence- Methos. Fear subsided, replaced with purpose, as he turned into another street. He paused in the darkness until he was sure the other was following him. 

Away from Methos. 

* * *

"Will I do?" 

Methos strode into the little part that was nothing more than a patch of green amongst the grey of the city. The two figures stopped their dance around each other and just briefly light caught the blade of a sword. 

Just one. 

"Who are you?" 

The question was flat, unemotional, as was the expression on the challenger's face. Methos waited until Daniel was out of reach of the sword. 

"Does it matter?" Methos inquired reasonably. 

"No," came the answer. 

* * *

Cold. 

Methos knew this cold - it was barren, a wasteland with...just nothing. 

A hand brushed against his shoulder and Methos became aware that he was on his hands and knees. Strong hands helped him up. Methos reached for something to hold, found the folds of Daniel's coat and.... 

"Bastard," he snarled pushing himself away from his friend. Daniel looked at him quizzically. 

"You have your sword!" he accused and weaved dangerously. The world around him spun. He saw Daniel move forward to steady him, but Methos brushed the hands away. 

//Alone...another day, another year... another century, another life another grave...two graves...// 

The Quickening churned within him, replacing old nightmares with new ones. Methos tried to ignore it. 

"He was going to take your head...you were doing nothing!" 

//So tired...Fight me, fight me,fight me...// 

" I was trying to talk to him...to talk him out of it..." Daniel tried. 

"He was going to take your head," Methos snapped and Daniel shut up. 

// Fight me, Fight me, Fight me...// 

"He wanted to die..." Methos rasped. He closed his eyes against the pain, but the darkness brought no relief- a memory, not his, of a woman and a child, laughter...and then just hollow, nothing but the screech of a car, the crunch of metal and ... enough. 

Enough. 

Methos needed to get out of here, and fast. He found his sword next to the park's only swing. Scorch marks decorated the metal. He reached out and pushed the swing and the memory of laughter tore into him. Warm and loving and then sadness that welled within...before by sheer force of will he pushed it away. 

Still the coldness remained. 

"Where are you going?" 

The sound of footsteps and then Daniel beside him. They walked out of the park, stopping just briefly when they heard the sound of an engine in the street. 

Watchers. 

//Cold again...never warm...never hear them...never feel// 

"Methos..." 

A hand curled around his bicep and Methos felt his skin burn at the simple contact, felt the quickening lock onto that, consuming the simplicity of skin on skin, and it fueled the need for contact. Fire to burn away the nothing inside him, and to make him feel again. 

More. 

Daniel waited, the hand imperceptibly digging further into his arm. 

No...not Daniel...not if he wanted pain with the pleasure, wanted both to course through him until there was nothing else. 

"Go home," The words finally escaped Methos' lips, before he shook the arm off and continued on his way. 

Please go home. 

The Quickening curled within him, around every atom, every part that was Methos, that made him want to take the next step. He could imagine cold tendrils of nothing curling around his arm, and if he could just get... 

"No." 

There was that touch again, inflaming that small part of him, through the layers of clothes. 

"No," Methos echoed Daniel's word, spun away from him before he pushed his friend up against the brick wall. It didn't seem to faze him at all. 

"Come home with me. You need to." 

Need to... 

...yes... 

No! 

No. Methos held onto that thought, even as he pushed his leg between Daniel's, keeping him pressed up against the wall. The full length of their bodies against each other, delicious friction as he rubbed up against Daniel. 

"You'd let me have you?" Methos purred. His hands found purchase on Daniel's hips, and there Methos held him down. Daniel didn't waver. 

"I want to come in you, Daniel...feel your body around me and then flip you over and do it again. Is that what you want to hear?" Methos asked. He ignored the fact that Daniel's hands settled at his hips, digging into the bone there. 

Keeping him close. Methos upped the ante. 

"Would you let me do you here?" he asked. He heard the breath quicken and impossibly felt Daniel spread himself wider against the wall. 

No. 

Bluff called, Methos tried to spin away, but instead found desperate hands clutching at him, keeping him close before Daniel's mouth closed over his. 

And it was a sweet surrender. 

"Come on..." Daniel whispered, his face still close enough for Methos to feel his breath against his skin. Daniel slipped away from the wall, found his hand before he lead them to a main street and a taxi. 

He let Daniel take care of everything while he settled in the backseat. The Quickening, the need, was there, hovering beyond the bounds of civility, and Methos curled his hands into fists at his side. Maybe, just maybe, he thought if he looked anywhere, but at the man next to him, he might survive the ride. 

The streets outside were cloaked in an inky blackness, only every now and then broken by weak streetlights. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to settle his erection against a thigh. Instead, he felt a gentle pressure against his cock, before Daniel tilted his head back to him and kissed him. 

It was gentle, it was inquiring, and Methos knew he wasn't going to last when all he wanted to do was consume that mouth, make it give to him, give him everything...from far away he heard the muffled groan and retained enough presence of mind to know it wasn't of pleasure. 

Methos didn't stop...until Daniel simply pulled away. 

The spark of the Quickening danced across his reddened lower lip at the same moment Methos realised he tasted blood in his mouth. He reached for Daniel again, even as it registered that Daniel was pulling away from him. Methos smiled, cold and brittle, the only `I told you so' he was capable of at the moment. He dismissed Daniel for the child he was, and turned back to the streets outside. 

He didn't move when he felt the nip on the vein in his neck. He gave no outward sign of encouragement to Daniel either. Not, that it seemed Daniel needed it. The nip, became a bite, and his body treacherous creature that it was, responded. A hitch in his breathing. Daniel noticed, because Methos felt the buttons on his dress shirt give, next before fingers found a nipple, brushing across the nub slowly. 

Another street... 

The hand withdrew, and Methos felt his tie loosen, and his top-most button pop open. Daniel's mouth latched on to him there, and like every Immortal he knew, Methos arched into the assault...but didn't turn away from the street outside. 

Not even when his belt and the top button of his pants popped open. A sure grip closed over his cock and Methos couldn't help but thrust into it. That mouth was back at his neck again, encouraging his to turn, but Methos didn't, concentrated instead on the city. 

He didn't resist when he felt Daniel push his boxers and pants down further. He helped in fact by lifting his ass slightly, gasping at the rasp of the material as it slid over him. 

A brief peck at his neck again before he felt Daniel slither over him until his mouth closed over his cock. 

Heat, moist, velvet...a tongue that slid along his shaft with practiced ease even the way they were...and Methos could hardly help the gasp that left him. He closed his eyes on the vista outside, his hands carding through Daniel's hair as he sucked him...more his body demanded, and he obliged pressing down on Daniel's head while trying to urge his hips up higher. There was a muffled gasp and Methos thought it must have been Daniel, but instead he found the hooded gaze of the taxi driver as he tried during the few seconds at the lights, to see them. Methos ignored him, pressed down harder, and thankfully Daniel obliged, increasing the delicious pressure on his cock, the movement of his tongue and suction ripped his orgasm from him. 

Desire, need, lonliness, together, live...Methos split apart and then came together again. 

This time when he opened his eyes, he couldn't not look at Daniel as he rose from between his legs. His mouth reddened and glistening delectably with drops of his come. 

"Okay?" Daniel asked. 

Methos didn't answer - this was something to take the edge off, but he could handle the edge, it was the utter desolateness of self that came with a Quickening saturated in grief that was drowning him. Daniel's hands moved over him again, and by the time he was halfway dressed again, they had stopped. 

Daniel flung a few bills at the driver before the fled the taxi, Methos simply holding his coat closed. They made it to the apartment just barely before Methos was on Daniel again, demanding, consuming and he expected the passiveness again, but fucking him up against the door in his apartment, their legs caught by the pants pooled at their ankles...he saw fire in Daniel again. And reveled in it. 

Methos bit his lip when he came, between shudders that wracked his body. Or Daniel's - he wasn't sure. 

"Off..."Daniel demanded already pushing at the remnants of the tux he wore. Swords clattered to the floor, muffled in the folds of both their coats. 

They made it to the bedroom finally, where the night was chaotic, and he fucked Daniel with a desperation and need until exhaustion overcame them both. Sleep was welcome though his dreams were no less chaotic than the reality of his night - images that left him upon awakening with desire, need, love, MacLeod, loneliness and together ...and watching. 

That was instinct. 

He awoke and knew already that Daniel was too, though his lover made no move to disentangle himself from the long -limbed knot of their bodies. 

"Morning..." Methos drawled. He shifted onto his side determined to face the music, as it were. He almost missed the small `hi' in answer to his greeting. He didn't miss the questioning look. 

"I'm fine..." Methos answered Daniel's silent inquiry. "He was just...cold." 

Methos snuggled deeper into the cocoon of warmth beneath the blankets, slipping free of Daniel's hold as he did so. Lower still, he felt a leg against his, keeping the contact. A sliver of blue, from beneath too long lashes regarded him and Methos could not fathom how this one still managed this combination of innocence and fragility. It was intoxicating as it always had been and Methos could not resist a focussed attack on Daniel's lips as he leaned in to Methos. A swift roll and Daniel was now pinned to the bed, though he had no complaints. 

Methos abandoned Daniel's mouth though he remained close enough that each breath they took belonged to them both. Daniel's eyes were wide, already darkened and the cock awakening against Methos' thigh left no doubt as to what he wanted. Lips, deliciously red, curled into a smile as Daniel's fingers traced a path along his spine. Methos shivered. 

Long, slow kisses that encouraged his body, while long fingers found his nipples coupled with the barest hint of a finger at his ass. 

Methos traced the length of Daniel's neck delicately, before a not too gentle bite and Daniel arched beneath him, his hands grasping Methos hard enough to bruise. A whimper when Methos returned the dedicated attention to his nipples, leisurely alternating between tongue and fingers, pleasure and delicate pain. 

A sigh of pleasure echoed in the room, this time from Methos when Daniel's cock bloomed in his mouth. Methos felt the fingers through his hair, gentle encouragement this time, and Methos took him in deeper, his cock, his scent and then the gentle ripple along the length of his shaft as Daniel came in his mouth. 

Methos lay, as spent as Daniel was in mind, though hardly in body. He rubbed affectionately at Daniel's flaccid cock with his cheek. Each gentle rub was rewarded by a minute shift of Daniel's body as he tried to get closer despite the fact that Methos was pinning him down. Grinning, Methos licked his cock. 

"Methos..." Daniel whined. Hands on his head pulled him up and Methos found his mouth thoroughly being explored. 

There was a moment of respite before Daniel began to leisurely run his tongue along Methos' fingers, licking them. Dewy-eyed with a `fuck me' look, Daniel kept his gaze on Methos as his teeth grazed his finger pads. He let the last one go with an obscene pop before his legs fell open lazily and waited for Methos. If Methos hadn't been painfully hard, he'd be commending Daniel on his method. 

"How do you want me?" Daniel asked, and Methos bit back a groan. Daniel's hands slithered over his torso, over his abs, down to his own cock that settled in between the V of his middle fingers. Then slowly over his cock, encouraging. 

He lifted his hips in invitation and Methos began stretching him 

"From behind," Methos said, remembering the question. "Lube?" 

"Come here..." Daniel beckoned and Methos found himself straddling Daniel's chest, his cock bobbing lewdly in Daniel's face. He had time for a sharp breath before Daniel drew his cock in and Methos found himself reaching out blindly for the headboard as a glorious tongue ran along the length of his cock. 

Too soon Daniel let him go with a parting lick at the tip of his cock. 

Covers were discarded as Daniel moved to his knees, his head resting on his arms, his ass Methos' for the taking. Methos parted the perfect globes, to Daniel's centre. He blew across it and was rewarded with a strangled "Methos!" and Daniel's cheeks clenching in anticipation. He ran his hand along the smooth expanse of Daniel's back, along the curve of his neck before he entered him in a single smooth stroke. 

His entire being was engulfed in a tight heat and Methos moved, skin on skin, until he could reach Daniel's neck which he licked gently. 

"Methos..." Daniel wiggled his ass in consternation and Methos had to stop until he found he could breathe again. They fit together, awkward angles and sharp planes that melded like this. Briefly Methos wondered how he would fit in Mac's arms. 

"Methos?" 

His name, a quivering question that banished all thought of MacLeod. He looped an arm around Daniel's waist bringing him back into his lap until they were both resting on their knees. 

Methos watched him with avid interest - Daniel's eyes squeezed shut, his mouth pursed then sweat decorating his face as the words continued. 

"Methos, Methos...." 

His name became a sigh with Daniel's next breath, Gods, he was beautiful and Methos wanted to see him. He brushed the long hair from Daniel's brow, and Daniel leaned into the brief contact, almost desperate for it. 

"Methos, always...Methos..." 

His name was a keening wail, that coursed through him, urging him on until past and present mingled and Methos obeyed. Methos found he didn't mind the past in there, concentrated on it and found it in the moment with him as well. He reached for Daniel's cock as it showed a renewed interest, pumping it in time with their movements until Daniel came over his hands, and then Methos came as well, a glorious release in his lover before the slumped to the bed, still joined. 

* * *

So, saving the world - still old. But Jack did his job, did whatever what was asked of him. Eventually this included standing down and letting Carter handle a few missions on her own. The General didn't seem all that that surprised when Jack didn't protest and Jack appreciated the fact that he wasn't coddled - Hammond was getting a new team together. 

That's how he found himself with Carter on his doorstep, the night after her third mission out. 

"Here," Jack dangled a beer in front of her before taking a seat next to her on the couch. She took it automatically, rolling the bottle between her hands. 

"You brought them back," he offered. 

He'd heard already - about the ambush. Carter turned to him, eyes bleak. 

"They came out of nowhere," she began. "Carson went down first and then Fallon. Do you know why we didn't pick them up on our initial scans of the planet? They weren't classifiable - not by our standards." 

"Sam...you brought them back," Jack repeated. There was really nothing more he could say. 

"Yeah..." 

And that's how they started. Nothing more than missions being re-hashed over a friendly beer. 

Until four missions later when she kissed him. 

Soft, he yielded to the strength in her, aching to give in to something, someone like her. At one time he had wondered how she would feel in his arms, how they would fit - and they did fit together. 

She smelt like a spring morning, early, just as the sun was rising. She always did, be it in uniform or civvies. He never figured out how she managed to do that. Sam tasted sweet, easily surpassing every fantasy that went beyond that single kiss in the Gate room in that time loop he had to endure. 

She nibbled at his lower lip again, before invading his mouth and Jack couldn't help but crush her body to his, the need to devour her taste, her scent...and solace. 

The thought mocked him in between lust and need, and everything Jack thought he had wanted. 

Shit. 

"Jack?" 

He heard the question in her voice, and Jack wanted to look at her, to apologise and explain - but all he did was bury his face in his hands. He didn't look up until the front door closed. 

Wanting Sam and needing Daniel. The same never-ending circle of regrets and missed chances. 

Christ, it was getting old. 

* * *

The last chevron locked into place, the room thundering with the force of the Gate's movement. The wormhole flared to life and only then did Jack know. He knew what he had to do. It was always the smallest things with him - sitting across the table from Sarah, another dinner at the table out of habit and he asked her to pass the salt, met her gaze over the salt shaker and knew that it was over. And now a fully activated Stargate without Daniel at his side. He finally understood what Daniel had said after Shau'ri had died - that every time he stepped through the Gate it would just be another place...emptiness where hope used to be. 

Jack's last mission was a success and at the debriefing he told them all. No one seemed at all surprised. But then he always seemed to lose heart without Daniel at his side. They just realised it sooner than he did. 

His retirement party ground the base to a halt. This was it, the last time and everyone knew it. Hammond promised to look after his kids while Carter...Jack knew he'd fucked up on that one and came clean to her. Grief. Plain and simple and he would just have been using her. She believed him. 

"I am sorry O'Neill." 

The voice startled him and not for the first time Jack wondered how many missions would have gone differently had he had someone like Teal'c on his side. Hands clasped lightly behind his back Teal'c surveyed the empty office at Jack's side. 

"Sorry about?" 

"DanielJackson. That he did not tell you he cared. For you." 

It didn't surprise him that Teal'c knew - somehow it seemed right. Jack hadn't been able to see what Teal'c could and had ended up caught somewhere between what he thought he wanted and Daniel. Finally they, Jack and Daniel, names in the same breath were suddenly as far apart as he could manage. 

"There are times,O'Neill, that I fear for the Tauri. Your people are already afraid of so much that they should not fear. There are far worse things in the universe than discovering you cannot control who you will love." 

"I know," Jack replied surveying the empty office. 

Too late. 

* * *

So retirement - not so bad after all. 

Jack repainted the house and even managed to convince Teal'c that it would be fun. That the Jaffa agreed made Jack wonder if he had not finally learnt the nuances of humoring a person while he wasn't looking. He finally got around to reading the _Iliad_ \- it had been lying on his bedside table for far too long. He went fishing and the decided the cabin could use a bit of attention and convinced Teal'c to help out as well - well actually had to swear the Jaffa would not have to fish, or listen to any fish stories, along with promising a pound of flesh if the words " I once caught a fish...." were ever uttered. Jack didn't mind. He listened to Teal'c talk about the new SG 1, about Carter who was dating someone called Faxon, Hammond, Janet and Cassie...and Jack realised he was okay. Daniel wasn't around every corner, like at the SGC, and he stopped feeling that sharp drop out of his world everytime he heard his name or a memory surfaced when he was washing up or flicking through the TV and found the Discovery Channel. 

Then the photos came. 

* * *

An A4 envelope left on his doorstep, with no markings of any kind. Inside there were a dozen black and white glossies \- of Daniel. 

Daniel staring at a painting; Daniel drinking coffee, at a bakery, Daniel with an old woman...Daniel...Daniel...Daniel.... 

No. 

This was too easy to believe - but there was the NID, Kinsey, Maybourne and too many others with enough hatred of him to do this. 

No. 

He replaced the photos in the envelope and put the envelope in his desk and then locked the drawer. 

No. 

* * *

He found another envelope the following week. 

More photos. 

Daniel mocking him, shopping, living a life, Daniel with someone else, walking together, shoulders touching... 

No. 

Jack put the envelope with the other one refusing to let some agency control him. He couldn't. He would not. 

* * *

The letter lay open on Daniel's lap, his fingers curled into the paper as if it were his last grasp on sanity. Despite the fire he was still cold from his trek to the mailbox. He had forgotten all about the application, and had not expected an answer for a while yet. 

"Coffee?" 

The grunt broke through his fog and Daniel managed a nod in the general direction of the kitchen. Methos, hair tousled, eyes hidden beneath lids still heavy with sleep and wrapped in a blanket shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen. Daniel returned to the letter - he had been accepted for a teaching position at the archaeology department at the Sorbonne. 

It was all wrong. 

"What's so interesting?" Methos inquired on his shuffle back to the couch. Still wrapped in the blanket and carrying a coffee mug he managed to sit without spilling a drop. 

"I...err...got a job." Daniel said. Methos shrugged quizzically. "At the Sorbonne, in the archaeology department," Daniel clarified. That did catch Methos' interest. 

"That's not the wisest thing to do." Methos leaned over the edge of the couch setting the mug on the floor. 

"It's too soon. You know it' s too soon." 

There was the barest hint of reproach in his voice. The thing was, Daniel had known it was too soon. A teaching position was also not the best place to continue with his research. He had to admit that he had not been thinking of either reason when he had applied. 

"I know...I know," Daniel said. It was also dangerous and stupid. It could attract the wrong attention. 

"What are you going to do?" Methos asked stretching out. His toes kneaded into Daniel's thigh. 

Daniel's answer was to crumple the letter and then they both watched as the ball inscribed a perfect arc in the air before landing in the fire. It was ash in a matter of seconds. 

"Start again," Daniel replied. The words were more true now than they ever had been. He pushed Methos' feet away before stretching out beside him. 

"Hey watch it, it's cold," Methos protested as Daniel forced him to open up his arms, and the blanket to him. 

"Yes, well, it wouldn't be cold if you had put some clothes on, " Daniel pointed out unsympathetically. 

"You complaining?" Methos shot back as his arms closed around Daniel. 

"No," Daniel whispered. His eyes strayed to the fire. 

No complaints. 

* * *

Daniel laughed. 

Short and resigned as his fingers closed over the bars that blocked his escape. 

And relieved. 

Finally it had happened - he couldn't run anymore. At least there was only the one, the other had remained in the limousine. 

Behind him feet crunched in snow and the sound of a sword being drawn filled the courtyard. 

This one was a hunter, playing the Game because that's all there was, the only thing he knew how to be. The suit, the limo were all trappings of civilization - out of necessity. He had the look - he'd be at home in a limo as well as on horseback, because in the end, that's not what mattered. 

Daniel couldn't run... 

His fingers brushed over the steel in his coat... 

After, Daniel slipped out of the courtyard, hugging the shadows until he found the main street. Soon after he heard the sirens, but managed to keep from running. He was meeting Methos for dinner, had been shopping when this challenger had appeared - maybe he could convince him to pick up something on the way instead. Either that or leftovers. Daniel huddled deeper into his coat....there was chicken, and some curry...and he was closing his front door and sagging back in relief. 

Time blurred again and he was sitting in front of a fire, rolling a glass of scotch against his forehead. The ice clinked against each other and the glass delicately - the only sound to break the silence. But all he heard was the crunch of feet in snow and the sound of a sword being drawn.... 

Muffled curses at his door brought him back to reality. 

"Fucking snow...fucking Paris," greeted him when he opened the door. Methos entered in a flurry of snowflakes, more curses and stomping feet. 

"Yess..." he hissed in delight when he saw the fire. He flung his coat to one side before he made a beeline to the flames. 

"Can I get a drink please?" Methos whined as he attempted to warm himself in front of the fire. Daniel ignored him, still entranced by the sound of feet on snow and steel on steel. 

"Daniel?" Methos rose from the flames, concern on his face. 

"It's nothing," Daniel said moving to stand in front of his friend. 

A crunch of snow and then steel - and that familiar fear, like the weight of a sword in his coat was back. Daniel leaned forward and kissed Methos, feeling the chill in the other's body before his hands wrapped around him. 

He didn't really think he'd ever gotten rid of it. 

* * *

Holy ground. 

Holy ground, holy ground...holy ground. 

An immutable rule of the Game was that holy ground was safe. 

Or so Joe Dawson kept telling himself. He was almost to the island when he saw it - a flash of sunlight along a length of steel. That's when his mantra started. 

Holy ground, holy ground, holy ground... interspersed with MacLeod, rules ...and just both of them knew the rules, lived and played by the rules. Then his mind gleefully reminded him that Connor had manipulated Duncan into almost killing him not long ago. Connor would have long since been dead had Joe not ended that fight with a well placed bullet in Connor' s back. 

Another flash and this time Joe was close enough to see Duncan on the defensive deflecting Connor's attack and not with ease. Finally the katana went flying through the air and Duncan stood with Connor's sword at his neck. Neither man paid him any attention as he tethered his boat and made his way up to the cabin. 

"Hi," Joe said lamely. It was as good a place to start as any, though it didn't garner him any reaction from either MacLeod. Instead Connor moved and his sword dug into Duncan's neck. 

Aw, hell. 

"Joe, could you wait inside?" Duncan asked, his eyes never wavering from Connor. 

Every instinct told Joe to stay, except Duncan's voice brooked no argument. 

The cabin door closed behind him and immediately the sound of muted voices filtered through. Joe watched them through the window and wished he had thought to bring his gun. But this was holy ground. He snickered at the thought. The sword was still at Duncan's throat, though now Duncan's hand rested on Connor's sword arm. This was the stuff of his nightmares - Connor and Mac turning against each other out of grief, Connor sinking to the rooftop, dead, and Mac following him, dying with him. He had then asked Joe to take both katanas away. 

Outside despair and grief were etched on Connor's face, deeper than Joe had even seen. Not for the first time Joe was thankful that a human life was so blessedly finite. To endure that...over and over... he pitied them. 

Outside Connor's sword fell away from Duncan's neck and the elder Scot leaned in against his cousin, his forehead resting briefly on Duncan's shoulder, before Duncan held him. Inside, the cabin echoed with the sound of Joe's sigh of relief. He shuffled over to a chair and made himself comfortable. 

"Joe." 

The word was a sigh more than anything else. Unruly shoulder length hair framed a tired face - weariness of which Joe had not seen since Duncan had lost Tessa. Connor was at his side. 

"Mac...Connor," Joe greeted them. He wasn't quiet sure what to expect from the elder Scot - the last time they had met he'd shot him. Since then they had not spoken - Connor was never around whenever he visited the island. 

"Dawson," Connor returned blandly. 

Ok, disinterest he could handle. 

"I thought I'd swing by and check if you guys needed anything," Joe said with forced casualness. Duncan at least cracked a wry smile. 

"Thanks, Joe," Duncan said, "but I think it' s time we moved on." 

Duncan's eyes strayed to Connor, but Connor stared resolutely away at a spot that was his alone. 

"Could you make arrangements for seats on a flight to Scotland?" 

"Sure," Joe replied. So Connor had finally agreed. 

"Thanks." 

He'd be making reservations for three, but Joe figured right now, discretion would be the better part of valor. 

"Ok then. I guess I'd better get going," Joe announced to the room at large. Thankfully Duncan offered to help him back to the boat. 

* * *

"Methos took a Quickening." 

"Who?" Duncan asked immediately. The single word was imbued with more concern than Duncan had shown anyone, including himself lately. 

"Matthew Croft." 

A blank stare. Joe figured as much. 

"Just a guy. Lost his wife and her kid in an accident a while ago. And then he lost it. Started hunting...except his Watcher reported that Croft wanted to lose. " 

Duncan exhaled. A long, slow breath. 

"Is he all right" he asked. "Joe, you saw him after Kell...." 

Joe nodded. Kell's Quickening had destroyed a factory and left a huddled Methos in his wake. An empty Methos. 

"Why didn't he just run?" 

Oh boy - the good part. 

"It wasn't exactly his challenge, Mac. Croft found his friend first - a new guy in Paris, anyway. Methos has been hanging around him...a lot," Joe said meaningfully. "This guy's been taking lessons from the Old Man, because he refused to fight and Methos showed up and took the challenge." 

Duncan's face clouded over - a fierce protective streak over Methos that had been for too long tightly controlled. 

"Any idea who the guy is?" 

Bingo! 

"The best I could get was a name - Daniel. Appeared out of the States a while ago, and that's it. But this is where it gets interesting - a while ago he was challenged by Ford, Matthias Ford of Ford Enterprises?" 

An eyebrow arched at that - it would. Ford Enterprises was one of the largest computer software companies in Europe. 

"He's a hunter. And now he's `dead' and the whole world knows. Ford Enterprises is finished. His partner - Henri Dessaix, is closing up shop. Word is they like to hunt together. And they don't give up easily." 

"This Daniel..survived?" Duncan asked. 

"Yep - kept Ford busy long enough to put a bullet in him. And that, my friend, is classic Methos." 

"Possibly...." Duncan allowed. Joe waited patiently. Duncan glanced back at the cabin, and then back to Joe and nodded once. 

Paris. 

* * *

He watched Jack leave, waited until the car had pulled away before he left his own. This envelope was the last - pictures and a plane ticket this time, he hoped Jack would use. Dr Fraiser thought it was too much of a risk, and she was right. But it didn't matter. He owed his allegiance to nothing save his own conscience and those who had been loyal to him. Carefully he propped the envelope at the corner of the door. He hoped this worked. He had almost made it to the end of the drive when Jack pulled in. 

"General?" Jack greeted him, curiosity plain on his face. Hammond closed his eyes briefly. He really was getting too old for cloak and dagger antics. 

"Jack," he returned calmly. "I thought you were taking Teal'c to a game today?" 

"I am...I forgot his game cap," Jack said. Hammond fought the urge not to turn when curious eyes flicked to the envelope at the door and filled with understanding. And then anger. 

"General..." 

"Jack..." Hammond said silencing him. There was no place to begin, and this story wasn't his to tell. 

"I'll tell Teal'c you couldn't make it," Hammond continued. "Just ...go." 

Jack glanced behind him at the door and nodded. Hammond left him there, heard the front door slam shut and kept on walking. He didn't look back. 

* * *

There it was again, the barest hint of a presence intruding on his own and then nothing - the second time in as many days. Daniel shook his head to clear the cobwebs and hurried forward into the crowd. 

* * *

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Daniel intoned. 

"What about him?" Methos asked irritably. He pulled a slim book off the shelf - another collection of Shelley poems. Not the anthology he was looking for but it had to be here somewhere. Why Paul, his former manager, would have put this anthology under `S' he would never understand. That and why they were carrying Shelley in the first place. He scanned the `S' shelf again. So much for a quick stock take before the place went on the market. 

"Duncan MacLeod..." 

"Yeah...yeah," muttered Methos. 

"Well, isn't that him?" 

Methos blinked, not entirely sure he had heard right. He refused to let the query, too genuine to be calculated, to startle him. Just in case he hooked a leg through a rung in the stepladder. 

"What?" 

He followed Daniel's gaze to the street outside where he saw Duncan just barely avoid a bicycle. Then there was the steady thrum of the Highlander's presence before a clear note of the bell above the door heralded his entrance. 

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Methos said in a sing song voice. The greeting earned him a half smile from the Highlander as he made his way down the ladder to meet him. 

"Adam," Duncan said. The smile wavered as he glanced at Daniel. 

"Duncan meet Daniel. Daniel meet Duncan," Methos said introducing them quickly. 

"Hello," Daniel said carefully. 

"Hello," Duncan returned. They stood there and awkward threesome, which Methos found, he didn't really mind. It gave him a chance to study MacLeod, to see the weary face framed by wild strands of hair still too short to be tied back. Dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders bowed within the folds of his coat, and not because of the cold outside either. 

"Adam...can we talk?" 

"I'll just go find a book," Daniel announced shooting an amused glance at Methos. Methos ignored it as he led Duncan further into the shop, and his little office there. 

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Methos asked. He made himself comfortable on the edge of his desk, while Duncan paced the very small, uncluttered space available to him. 

"Are you planning on staying in Paris long?" Duncan asked. 

"I'm not sure," Methos replied. "It depends on how soon I can get a buyer for the shop." 

And you, Methos thought. Daniel. 

"You're selling the shop?" 

"If I can get a buyer." He watched Duncan's fists clench and then slowly unfurl. 

"Are you going back to England?" 

"I really don't know," Methos replied. 

"Then you'll be in Paris?" Duncan asked his face hard. 

"Is this your way of asking me if I'm going to stick around? Where you can keep an eye on me?" he added deliberately. 

"Yes." 

That shut him up, briefly. Methos wanted too much to take that word simply as concern between friends. He almost succeeded. 

"I'll be around, Highlander," Methos confirmed. The affirmation did nothing to ease Duncan's concern. 

"I'd feel safer if you weren't in Paris. Go to the island, or come to Scotland. Bring Daniel with you, I don't care." 

"MacLeod - what on earth are you going on about now?" Methos said, interrupting Duncan's next suggestion. 

"Ford," Duncan explained, " is a hunter. Between him and Dessaix, Paris is not the best place for you." 

"Who?" Methos asked confused. 

"Ford? Matthias Ford? The Immortal that Daniel faced? And shot?" 

"Of Ford Enterprises? That Matthias Ford?" Methos asked. Things were suddenly beginning to make sense to him. The death of the CEO had made the news briefly, but details had been sketchy. Ford had been for all intents and purposes as elusive in death as he had been in life. Thanks largely to Henri Dessaix. His partner for the past five hundred years or so. Capitalism had proved too good to them and every so often they would switch taking turns playing the elusive billionaire. Both notorious hunters both shielded by the protection their money brought to them. 

And Daniel had apparently killed Ford. 

Wonderful, Methos thought. 

"Fine, then I'll stay close," Duncan said resolutely. Methos couldn't help it, he grinned and stood, halting MacLeod midstride. 

"MacLeod, neither Daniel nor I have any desire to see our lives end at the sword of some challenger with too much money. I'll be fine. Go to Connor. He needs you more than I do." Methos knew he was playing dirty, and that Connor would make Duncan stop and think. 

"Methos, I don't want to lose you," Duncan said. He said the words with utter calm, and the certainty in him left Methos floundering for words. 

"Connor needs me...and I need you around...." 

Methos stood still, not daring to believe what he was hearing, what Duncan sounded like. 

"Don't run off on me, old man...not this time. There are things...that need to be said." There was a promise hiding in the words, if not the hands cupping his face. And then the thumb that brushed across his cheekbone. 

Before Methos could reply,Duncan was gone, there was a clear note of the bell and then silence. 

Methos shook his head. Torn between regret, wanting Duncan near and being grateful that he wasn't. He knew Ford. He knew that he was a killer, dedicated to winning on any playing field - corporate or otherwise. 

Methos stole through the shop, down the aisle he had been searching in before Duncan arrived, until he found Daniel. 

Curled up in an armchair in the reading alcove, a book in his lap his brow furrowed as he turned the page. 

"You lied to me." 

"Huh?" Daniel said, the crease between his brows deepening. 

"You lied to me," Methos enunciated as he made himself comfortable on the side of the chair. 

"About?" 

"Taking a Quickening." 

The crease cleared. 

"No, I didn't lie. I didn't say anything in fact. You assumed," he clarified. 

Methos rolled his eyes. 

"Ford is a hunter...Duncan thinks it might be safer if we left Paris for a while." 

Daniel sat up, the book now closed between his hands. 

"He thinks it's necessary?" 

"Duncan wants us safe," Methos allowed. 

"It looks like you've finally rubbed off on him," Daniel commented. Methos quirked an eyebrow. 

"Perhaps," he said. "but leaving can't hurt. I don't think Ford will give up so easily. The ones like him never do." 

" I think...I've felt him...I'm not sure," Daniel muttered. 

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better," Methos mocked. Daniel set the book to one side. 

"I knew he'd come for you," Daniel said. He didn't need to clarify the oblique statement. He grabbed his coat and flung Methos' at him. The lights were next and the store fell into darkness. 

"Then you were more certain than I," Methos returned. 

"He'll be back." 

"I know," Methos said facing Daniel. He reached out cradling a cheek before he drew Daniel into a kiss. He leaned his forehead against Daniel's briefly. 

"We can end this." 

A shard of light caught the cold smile on Daniel's face. 

"You're too important to lose." 

"I'm honored, but like I told Duncan, I can take care of myself," Methos couldn't help the mocking tone in his voice. 

Daniel sagged against him, his body showing his capitulation, even if he couldn't voice it. 

"So," Daniel swallowed. "At least we don't have to go looking for him." 

Methos led him out. 

* * *

Surreal. 

Jack's stomach lurched as his plane began its descent into De Gaulle airport. 

Ok, maybe not. 

But still, here he was in Paris looking for a friend that was already dead. 

Surreal didn't seem to cover it. 

* * *

It was late by the time he cleared customs and Jack headed straight to his hotel. He checked in, spent all of ten minutes in the room before the walls began to close in on him. 

Daniel was out there somewhere. 

Jack grabbed the last batch of photos Hammond left him and hurried out. 

Thanks to a very patient receptionist half an hour later he found himself in front of Shakespeare and Co, a bookshop in the photographs. He waited across the street, trying to decide on the best course of action when the decision was made for him. 

They exited the shop together, two figures hidden by the darkness. It didn't matter - he would know that walk anywhere. 

Daniel. 

They passed under a street light, and he said the name again, because that's who he saw - same curve of a cheek, the same eyes...Daniel. 

Hair brushing against his eyes, huddled in a long coat, living, breathing, Daniel. 

Jack wanted to move, to go to him, but instead remained where he was, just watching. 

Daniel. 

Jack followed them relishing the sight of him, hungry for every gesture, every slight movement. Just to be sure he told himself. The excuse would have worked if not for the utter pleasure that suffused him as he watched Daniel. Confronting him, asking for the truth were the furthest things from his mind. 

Daniel. 

Jack said his name, just because he could, enjoying the sound of it. He had made up his mind to approach them when it happened. 

Both men stiffened as if they had scented something in the darkness around them. They stopped, and searched the street around them. 

Hunting. The word popped into his head as he watched them, slowly and deliberately scan the street...and then without warning, the other, Daniel's friend simply crumpled to the ground. Jack registered the sound of the gun, the figure emerging from the darkened street up ahead and the fact that the shots had come from behind Daniel, somewhere near him. 

A second shooter. 

Daniel didn't stand a chance. And what was worse he was moving to face the other man. 

That's when things took a left turn into the Twilight Zone. More than usual in his life anyway. 

Swords. 

The weapons appeared from inside their coats, and both Daniel and the stranger looked ready for a battle in the middle of the street in Paris. 

"Daniel!" Jack shouted as he emerged from his hiding place. Both men swerved to face him, shock on Daniel's face, anger on the other's. 

"Another time...Daniel," the opponent snarled before he was gone, his footsteps disappearing as the night swallowed him. 

Daniel still looked as if he had seen a ghost - which at any other time would have made Jack laugh out loud. 

"Jack?" Daniel stammered and relief swept through Jack at that single word because this was his Daniel, right down to the lilt in his voice when Daniel said his name. 

"Daniel..." Jack returned. "Are you ok?" 

The question threw Daniel and for a moment there was anger in his eyes - and fear. Before Jack could figure that part out, a dead man began to speak. 

"Bloody hell!" 

Daniel went to his `dead' friend and helped him up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

"Are you all right?" 

"No, I'm not all right," the man snapped. He fingered a hole in his sweater. "I've just been shot. Do I look like I'm all right?" 

Then sharp eyes met Jack's. 

"And an audience. This just keeps getting better and better." 

"Adam...meet Jack. Jack, this is Adam," Daniel interjected hurriedly taking care of the introductions. 

"Jack?" Adam repeated, considerably quieter. 

Daniel nodded. 

"Jack...Jack," Adam emphasised. 

Another nod. 

"Well, then, I guess we'd better get going." 

They walked to the apartment in silence. Every now and then Jack risked a short glance at Daniel, but his face was impassive. As was Adam's. Almost as if they were somewhere else. 

Adam swept into the apartment before them, fully intent on disappearing, it seemed, until Daniel's voice stopped them short. 

"Adam..." 

Almost pleading. 

"I hate this part," Adam muttered. He threw his coat into the nearest chair. It was a spectacular miss, punctuated by the sound of steel on wood. Daniel rescued the innocent garment. 

"Beer?" Adam inquired of the room, though he hardly acknowledged the negative answers. He stalked across the room, flung the fridge open, opened a bottle and threw the cap on top of the fridge. It was almost a compulsive need to move, to do something. As if he needed an outlet for something. 

Daniel was the antithesis of Adam. Tired, but more than that, Jack thought. 

"So.. someone want to fill me in..." Jack gestured at both of them. It was about as far as he was going to get without having to say the words. 

Adam sighed before making himself comfortable on the couch. Jack took the hint as Daniel began to speak. 

About the time he reached the part about being challenged, Jack was the compulsive one, every part of him wired as he tried to make sense of this story he was being told. 

Tried really hard to get his head around the part about swords, duels and combat to the death. All for something one of them could have if they survived. 

Some...power?! 

And his Daniel, was in the middle of it. 

"Ra?" Jack said quietly. Daniel would know where he was going with this. At his side Adam stopped mid-sip to look at Daniel. 

"Sarcophagus," Daniel answered. "He didn't know that I would heal, if he waited long enough." 

"Long enough?" Jack repeated. 

"Zats..anything alien... it just takes longer to heal." 

"And painfully," Adam interjected. Jack decided to let that, go - for now. 

"So...you guys fight - with swords," Jack said. 

"It can all be learned, Jack. Like using a P-90," Daniel shrugged. 

"Right," Jack said half-heartedly. 

Swords. Fighting for his life and combat to the death. 

"For a Quickening? And you have to chop the other guys' head off to get it?" 

A terse `yes' from Daniel and a yawn from Adam. 

"That guy tonight?" Jack queried. 

"Yeah...." 

And right about then a fantastic story took a firm turn towards frightening. 

"Why?" Jack asked simply. It sounded incredibly naive, but he asked anyway. 

"Why?" Adam said coming to life. "It's what we are Jack. A decade, a century or two can pass, but sooner or later, someone always comes hunting. Someone we can't run from." 

Hunt. 

Adam threw the word out there, and Jack latched onto it and the images it conjured up. 

A hunt. 

A Quickening. 

Power. 

Daniel. 

"Shit," Jack muttered to himself. He knew what a hunt meant, had done it enough times under the guise of darkness and the blessing of his country, but not like this. Not a hunt just to be the last one standing. 

"How did you find me, Jack?" 

The question dragged him back to the present. 

"General Hammond...he had these pictures of you and Adam" Jack answered. 

"A General..."Adam said mildly. "There's your answer." 

"What answer?" 

Whatever it was, Daniel seemed to hate what it meant. 

"A group of mortals have been chronicling our existence for the past four thousand years. This General of yours was Daniel's. They're called Watchers." 

"Why are you here?" Daniel asked wading in to the conversation. Was it only a few hours ago that confessing his feelings was the scary part, Jack wondered. 

"That's my cue to go have a shower," Adam announced cheerfully. Neither Daniel nor Jack paid him any attention. 

"I came here because I started receiving these pictures of my friend - the one whose eulogy I delivered. Again." Daniel had the grace to look apologetic. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't expect that...not yet anyway." 

Jack looked at him patiently. No way he was going to let that one go. 

"I've been there six years, Jack. Sooner or later someone was going to find out what I am. The General couldn't protect me forever." 

"Then what? You would have died?" Jack hissed the last word in contempt. 

"Why couldn't you have told me?" 

"What was I supposed to do? - Walk into your office one day and between mission reports slide it in?" Daniel shot back. "What about the NID, the CIA? What if they found out?" 

They would have taken him, Jack thought. Taken him and done God knows what to him. 

"But I'm not them," Jack said. 

"No, you're not." 

That was all he was going to get, Jack realised. It was all he needed anyway. There was more to be told than just Daniel's life story.  
"Did the General ask you to bring me back?" The question, asked casually, was laced with anger. 

"No.No! I retired. He sent the pictures to me. He just said...that I should go," Jack swallowed and plunged ahead. "And find you." 

It wasn't much, but right now it was all he had. Daniel still looked at him expectantly, as if there was more than just that. Jack clenched his jaw hard. 

"You keep retiring," he said finally. 

"I keep losing the strength for it." 

That earned him a brief flash of surprise before Daniel schooled his expression into one of neutrality. Immediately Jack knew what was coming. 

"How's Sam?" 

He stifled a groan. It had been too much to hope for that this would not come up. How was he going to explain that it had been a mistake? That wanting her had become needing him? 

"She's fine," Jack replied. It was enough for Daniel because he was smiling - a thin, cruel smile as if the answer had just settled something for him. 

"She's dating some new guy. And from what I hear, they're very happy." 

"Is that supposed to make everything better?" Daniel asked. It was a start,Jack mused. A cold, emotionless start, but at least it was out there. 

"So it took me a while Danny," he shrugged. "Finding out you love your best friend isn't the easiest thing to admit." To anyone. 

That got him nowhere fast because Daniel looked at him as if he had told him it was going to rain tomorrow. 

"Go home, Jack," he said with finality. He would have made it to the door, except Jack was faster, locking onto his hand, pulling him back into his arms in an attempt to crush Daniel's lips beneath his except...nothing. 

Daniel resisted, and pulled away from him - very obviously not wanting this to happen. A sound of a door slamming from within the apartment startled them both. 

Adam. 

He wasn't aware he'd said that out loud until Daniel answered. 

"It's not Adam," Daniel said softly. It was a small concession but Jack figured he'd take what he could get. 

"That's good..." 

Daniel seemed to want to look everywhere but at him. 

"Because that means I'm staying," he finished resolutely. 

That didn't surprise Daniel, and before Jack could dwell too much on that, Adam appeared. Jack was tagged and passed off because Daniel excused himself and disappeared into the depths of the apartment. 

* * *

"Can I get you anything?" Adam inquired. Hair still wet from his shower, and drowning in an oversized sweater, the guy looked -Jack choked on the word - young. 

"One of those beers would be good." 

Adam nodded. 

Jack wandered the room noting the... stuff that covered the available surfaces. Shelves set against the far wall groaned under the weight of things. Deliberately Jack stepped back, scanning each shelf in turn. It was a gallery of a life - sheets of paper rolled up neatly, a delicate vase with a dragon curling around its base, an etching of a severe looking woman; a thimble, old and delicate and an amulet - the eye of Horus, if Jack was not mistaken. There were photos as well, though none of Daniel. A man standing proudly in a studio shot, a woman, long, dark hair, her head thrown back in laughter, a little girl, with dark curls, and inquiring eyes looking shyly at the camera. Jack didn't know why he picked that one up, why that picture spoke to his memory - except that it did. Then he noticed the brush she was holding and the sand around her...before he returned to her eyes, until they became the ones he had seen in the woman he knew. 

Catherine. 

The room shrank around him and each of these things on the shelf loomed large in his mind, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to see Daniel there. 

"Here..." 

Somehow, he felt the cold of a beer in his hand, yet all he could see was the photo. 

How old is Daniel? 

The question hovered on the edge of being said, but he didn't. 

Catherine. 

Did it matter? He glanced at Adam, who waited quietly, an expectant air about him. 

It didn't matter. 

Adam left him there alone, the photo seared into his mind. A simple thing that brought with it the weight of so much he thought he might crumple to the floor from the sheer weight of the photo and what it represented. A deep breath - that was the past, this was now, and Daniel was here within his reach and nothing mattered but that. 

It didn't matter. 

He held on to that. 

* * *

Terror. 

Automatically Daniel dressed, his mind still frozen in that moment where Jack was running towards him calling his name. A few minutes either way and Jack could have been the one on the ground, or worse still, in the middle of a challenge. He shuddered at the thought. His worst nightmare realised. 

And Jack was still here, claiming he wanted to be with Daniel. A dream wrapped in a nightmare. 

But, his mind whispered, Jack's still here. Came from Colorado and Sam, just for him. It was hard not to let himself get caught up in the simplicity of that. 

"So...Jack, huh? Your CO as well." 

Methos stood in the doorway looking at him amused. He leaned to his right, a deceptively languid pose coupled with an enigmatic smile. 

Daniel refused to grace his teasing with an answer. 

"You're leaving?" 

"No," Daniel answered vaguely aware that the answer wasn't a surprise to Methos, or himself. 

"Your Jack is a Boy Scout. He'll take every challenge for you if he can." 

Daniel found himself nodding. 

"He'll try to protect you from everything." 

But he can't. 

"And the day you lose, you'll take a part of him with you. You'll leave him wondering if he should have done something differently. And no matter how many times you tell him it's the Game, he'll die a little everyday after you're gone...if he lives that long." 

A recitation of a future he had been living for too long now. 

"But he's still here." 

But he has no idea, Daniel thought. No idea how vulnerable he becomes if he stays, no idea of the position he' s going to put himself in. 

"He has no idea," Daniel whispered, almost to himself, but Methos answered anyway. 

"Then tell him. " 

But that meant...Daniel shook himself free of the lethargy bogging him down. For now Jack could wait. 

"Your Watcher friends...will they tell you where Ford is?" 

* * *

Daniel found Jack mulling over a photo in the living room, a beer forgotten on the table. He could guess which one it was. 

"This is..." 

"Catherine," Daniel finished. No surprise there. "I met her when Professor Langford found the Gate." 

"In 1928," Jack said dully. He's beginning to see, Daniel thought. Easy acceptance had given away to disbelief. Daniel was certain he knew what was coming next. 

"Your parents?" 

He knew what Jack wanted to hear, but giving him that would be too easy. 

"Melbourne and Claire died in a museum accident," Daniel said dispassionately, "I didn't lie about that. They had no surviving relatives and when the time came I needed to move on, I used them." 

A twitch. Good. 

"Nick?" Jack asked. 

"Thought a Crystal Skull could transport him to see giant aliens, essentially I was looking for my answers in the same place..." 

"What answers?" Jack said abruptly. 

"If there was a way out...of the Game," Daniel said , "but my answers are here..." He shook off the memory of that hope. "Anyway I got interested in Nick's work. When he was committed the first time the hospital would only talk to family. So I gave them family, by the end of it he believed it too." 

Jack's face hardened as Daniel recited his family history. Daniel let him stew over the words a while longer before they began to leave a bad taste in _his_ mouth. 

"What would you like to hear Jack? That I worked with Melbourne, that I watched him fall in love with Claire, watched them plan a life together only to have it destroyed in a single, stupid accident? Would you like to hear how helpless I was just standing there?" Daniel's voice wavered slightly before he wrestled control back. Melbourne, Claire , Sebastian before that and Shau'ri - the helplessness never left, it sunk deeper into him until hiding from it was the only alternative, or, finding someone to pull him out. And the circle started again. 

"It shouldn't matter you know, because there was another name before that, and before that. And they'll be more. I used them," Daniel said deliberately harsh. "And I'll use someone else next the next time." 

Jack didn't answer. The silence began to choke him. 

"Does it matter that I watched Nick's failures destroy him? That I took him to the hospital that first time? That I had him locked up because I really didn't know what else to do? I became his grandson because he didn't have anyone else." Still nothing, the silence thicker. 

"Jack, nothing I can say will ever make this seem remotely normal...right to you...I mean...what can I say?" Daniel asked helplessly. 

Jack didn't say answer his plea, instead he rose and replaced the photograph on the shelf. They stood like that, shoulder to shoulder, facing away from each other until Jack turned and gently rested his forehead against Daniel's shoulder. 

"Christ, Danny." He shuddered. Daniel stood still, feeling his body begin to react to Jack, when he felt it. 

Another presence. Not Methos. 

The doorbell rang. 

He moved reaching for his jacket and his sword and then Methos'. On cue Methos appeared and the Ivanhoe sailed through the air until steel slapped reassuringly against skin. And then Daniel stopped. Methos was grinning. 

"I think the address has just been delivered," the Elder Immortal said cryptically. He opened the door with a flourish. 

"M...Adam?" MacLeod caught himself just as he realised he had an audience. 

"Duncan. I see Joe can't find good help these days." 

The barb did nothing but elicit a wry grin from MacLeod. 

"Be nice,old man," MacLeod said as he entered the apartment. He nodded coolly at Daniel before Methos introduced him to Jack. Another polite nod. 

"Ford and Dessaix are at a factory just outside Paris. His company acquired it just before he `died'," MacLeod reported holding out a piece of paper. "And Joe hasn't heard back from his Watcher yet - either one." 

Shit. 

It was enough,Daniel thought. 

"Thank you," he remembered to say belatedly. And then reached for his coat. 

"No way." 

Jack. Daniel closed his eyes in frustration. 

"I'm coming with you." 

Methos ignored him, coolly checking his coat and his arsenal of weapons. 

And MacLeod...he was Methos' to deal with. 

"Why?" That threw Jack only momentarily. 

"Daniel, I'm coming with you." It was his command voice - the one that demanded obedience when everything else seemed to fail.  
"No.This is a Challenge, Jack. No-one interferes." 

Jack glanced at Methos pointedly. "Oh don't mind me. I'm just going to even the odds a little," Methos said calmly adding a silencer to his gun. 

"This is fucking nuts,"Jack hissed. 

"This is the way it is," Daniel retorted. It was useless. Ten minutes after they left Jack would be out the door. It was who he was. 

"MacLeod will keep you company." Methos interjected brightly. 

"Like hell," MacLeod muttered. 

"I'm asking,Mac," Methos said deliberately. "We can handle this." His voice cutting through MacLeod's arguments like a knife. It was hard to argue with such clear-cut certainty. Especially since this was Methos. 

"Relax, Highlander. I'll be back." 

Hardly the best reassurance but MacLeod agreed. Which left Jack. 

"Daniel," Jack said hoarsely and Daniel spoke, needing to pre-empt the words he knew he would always be hearing. 

"See you in a bit." 

And he left, the door slamming shut behind him. 

* * *

Fear. It coursed through him, blurring everything, making everything feel a thousand times more than he had before. On his nth circuit of the apartment since they had left, Jack simply couldn't take it anymore. He had to go. 

Jack placed his hand on the doorknob. 

"You're a distraction." 

He twisted it, refusing to listen to MacLeod. 

"You'll make him vulnerable. Something else he has to look out for besides losing his head." 

His hand slipped away from the knob. 

Waiting. Each strike of the clock, each footstep he made, each sound outside and his mind filled with scenarios, driving him nuts. And all the while MacLeod sat, his fingers steepled, waiting with him. 

A phone rang from within the folds of MacLeod's coat and the speed with which MacLeod answered belied his calm exterior. 

"MacLeod," the Scot said tersely. Jack rubbed his hands along his jeans, waiting, tried to read this man he barely knew, where was Daniel, had he lost him again and then MacLeod smiled. Small and relieved. 

And Jack remembered to breathe. 

"Thanks,Joe." 

"Now what?" Jack asked. 

"Now we wait. They're on their way back," MacLeod ran his hands through his unruly hair. 

"What?"Jack demanded. 

"Ford wasn't easy," MacLeod said. 

Christ,Daniel. 

* * *

MacLeod knew first - becoming awake, inch by inch until he threw open the door even before they heard a key. Adam stood in the doorway and Daniel. 

Jack's world steadied again. 

Both pale insubstantial creatures and Jack wasn't exactly sure who was supporting whom. 

"MacLeod, get him out of here," Adam said through clenched teeth. Daniel started at the voice and spoke. 

Jack didn't understand him...neither did MacLeod. 

Adam did, and answered Daniel before repeating his order. 

"No." 

Daniel looked at him blankly. 

"Jack...give them some time,"MacLeod interjected. A hand closed over his arm, and Jack went simply because he had no idea what to do. 

Because he didn't see Daniel in the figure before him. Didn't see him at all. 

* * *

Finally he was asleep. 

Methos tugged the robe around him as he answered the door. MacLeod and a blurry-eyed Jack graced the doorway. 

"Upstairs," he said curtly. MacLeod obeyed. 

"Daniel...what language was he speaking?" MacLeod asked. 

The voice was soft and the sofa sank as he sat next to Methos. 

"Before your time Mac," Methos replied dully. 

MacLeod didn't say anymore, not even when Methos fell asleep against him. 

* * *

Memories, vicious in their clarity, swamped him. 

Jack, the dark street, Jack, a challenge and he was dying, but Ford was already gone...into him and there was just pain, Methos holding him and then...he didn't know himself anymore and neither did Jack...until sweet oblivion... 

Shit. 

Daniel struggled to rise and his feet made it to the floor before the room started spinning. 

"Easy..." 

Daniel reached out for support, and found Methos. 

"Where is he?" he asked when he could. 

"Asleep upstairs. A little wiser, thanks to MacLeod." 

Daniel focussed and saw the weary eyes of his friend and switched gears. 

"Are you all right?" 

Dessaix had not been any easier than Ford. Daniel shifted a little to the side on the bed and Methos accepted his invitation. 

"How's MacLeod?" 

"A little headache, a little wiser..." Methos shrugged. "Getting used to the idea that he can't save the whole world." 

"I think he'd settle for just you," Daniel said. Their futures dawned for them together, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

"Don't stray too far, Methos," Daniel said at last. Methos rolled his eyes. 

"We're going to Scotland and then New York," he said. "After that, probably Paris. He likes it here.... tell Marcus. See if the others Darius chose still keep the covenant." 

"I will. Be safe, old man." Methos squeezed his hand and then he was gone closing the door behind him. 

* * *

Daniel moved through the motions of getting dressed. Jack, in the upstairs bedroom had still not awakened and he couldn't imagine himself going in there either. He called Marcus and brought him up to date. They could do this - choose the One. One day he'd have to tell Jack he would never be that, never win. 

"Daniel?" 

On the upper landing Jack appeared, barefoot in jeans and a shirt. It hurt to see the cautiousness in his eyes, in the way he held himself apart. 

"Hey, Jack," Daniel greeted him. He fought down the urge to meet him at the last step. 

"Where's Adam?...and MacLeod?" 

Normal conversation - Daniel could do this. 

"They left." 

"Oh." 

"Coffee?" Daniel asked brightly. Too brightly. 

"I think I'll just shower first," Jack said. 

"Okay...umm, I had the hotel send your bags over," he added nodding at the bags by the door. Bleary brown eyes widened in surprise. 

"Go shower...I'll put them in your room." 

A moment stretched into centuries at the `your'... 

"Okay. Thanks." 

Daniel smiled. 

* * *

They started over - he let Daniel show him Paris, the way he knew the city. Jack got used to the sword at Daniel's side, and the odd moments that he would for no apparent reason change direction. But it was only a matter of time before another challenger appeared. 

"How did you get box seats?" Jack asked barely able to suppress the delight in his voice hours after the Opera had finished. 

"I know a couple of people, Jack" Daniel said. 

Jack grinned. Sometimes, out of the blue, the simplest of questions would get an answer that would leave him wondering. But he never asked beyond what Daniel told him. Here and now mattered. Here and now with him - he could make that be enough. 

They walked together in silence, footsteps echoing on the street. Dinner, the Opera...Daniel never ceased to surprise him when it came to these `dates' of theirs. 

"Meyers called today," Jack said casually, "while you were at the store. He wants a decision - whether I want the job or not." 

"Well, I could always keep you," Daniel smirked. "Put you to work every now and then in the bookshop? Cataloguing, dealing with pushy customers? Researching? " 

Eyebrows waggled suggestively. 

"Tempting...Danny boy," Jack smiled. Right! Head of the European Security section...kinda had a nice ring to it, he thought. 

"You'd be bored out of your mind, but at least I could keep an eye on you..." 

Shit. 

Daniel's voice trailed off and that small crease appeared between his eyes - one of fierce concentration. 

Then he drew his sword. 

This was a kid, or looked like one, flinging taunts at Daniel and then at Jack. 

"Jack...go home," Daniel ordered. 

"No," Jack answered, refusing to be separated from him. 

"Jack!" Daniel hissed, his eyes pleading. 

"No," Jack whispered. 

Not giving in Danny...never leaving you... 

"Stay back then..." 

Fear - for him. 

Jack obeyed, moving away, his fingers digging into his palms from the force of staying still. 

Because there could only be One...Daniel. 

The light show ended with a final painful gasp from Daniel before he fell to his knees. Jack went to him, mindful that the air was thick with the energy just released. He helped him up, remembering a night months ago at a Blues bar where MacLeod had tried to explain the nature of Quickenings, of becoming lost in them, of the need that it created. 

Kissing Daniel seemed like the thing to do. 

Daniel pushed him away. 

"Not like this please," he begged. 

So Jack took him in his arms and together they cried in an alleyway over a corpse and every corpse that was to come. He rocked Daniel, his mind supplying the rules he now lived his life by - he could do it, live with them, and hate them if they brought Daniel back to him. 

Three nights later Daniel came to him, slipped into his room and waited. A figure in the shadows and Jack thought that he could live with that. 

"Yes..." 

The blanket lifted and Daniel got in beside him, his face obscured in the darkness. Then Jack felt his lips press to his, hands gripping him in a fierce need. 

Jack knew he could do this. 

He could...   
  


* * *

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